Talking to the gardener.



A hoeing in the warm sun,
of an autumn yet to come,
only love and no tears,
of war and shared beers.

He'd been having school tea at the vicarage,
in the time of bombs as rain,
two Luftwaffe airmen walked in,
having fallen from the sky.

They were served sweet tea and scones
and waited 'till the village bobby arrived,
strolling into the future.

A P.O.W. who had lost his sister,
during the blitz on Nuremberg,
came to tend his garden,
became a friend with this apple picker's,
relative to Eve
and stayed for the making of orchards.

I was humbled in the listening,
we talked of pig manure,
spread on his 7 organic allotments,
he freely gave his large tended harvest,
healing to the pensioners.

A Burma Star memorial,
that I knew in the telling,
we are loved,
such was war in the Vale of Evesham,
a kind and loving gentle man.

~